


Silent Night

by Mallie3



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: 18th Century, Cinderella Elements, F/M, London
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 10:26:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3131159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mallie3/pseuds/Mallie3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coming from nothing and fighting to survive the streets of London, a young girl gets herself in a heap of trouble one cold December evening. Thankfully for her, a mysterious young man stepped in, not only saving her life, but offers her a chance at a new one. A different take on a 'turned-Cinderella-story'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Night

_Silent Night  
  
Part I  
  
By: Mallie-3  
  
Warnings: Mature content! If you are under the age of 18, please turn around!  
  
Authors Note: Hello everyone! I have tried to hone in on the 18th Century London, and I tried my best to research some of it. The titles aren’t made up, but obviously they aren’t real people. This is a fictional story, with no Historical background other than I tried to keep true to that time period’s customs, so to speak. Though, I will warn you that some things aren’t correct. I am just writing for fun. I am not a historian.  
  
On another note…Kings were required to marry suitable princesses in order to obtain a pretty penny. They didn’t marry for love. Of course few did, but that is not the case in this story. There may be a bit OOC-ness in this story and that is due to the time period and where I have placed our favorite couples. If you can look past that aspect, I think you will enjoy my AU. Yes, you read it… ALTERNATE UNIVERSE!_

_Another note... this has not been beta read. You WILL find mistakes. I am sorry in advance!  
  
Quote: Silent Night, Holy Night…  
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9 Years Earlier…  
  
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Her breath slipped heavily from her lips as her small legs pushed her across the cobble stones, and down a dark alleyway. Screaming and yelling surrounded her and penetrating her ears, but she tuned it out. She was not allowing anything to break her concentration. She had to get home, she must. It had been three days without even a crumb of food. The young child glanced over her shoulder and let out one strong breath, taking note that the older shop owner was no longer in sight. Slowing to a trot, the blue haired female, gripped the beget tighter to her worn clothing, rubbing off the crumbs. Her blue eyes closed for a moment to catch her breath.  
  
With her lungs burning, the girl slowly merged with the darkness of the alley way and pressed her back against the cool stones of the buildings towering over her. Watching the soft breath float from her lips and disappearing into the night air, Bulma clutched at her shirt, glancing back toward the commotion in the street.  
  
Run…  
  
That was all that came to her mind when she had slipped her hand up and into the basket to collect the beget for herself. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and stars twinkled behind her closed eyelids. Was she going to pass out? No, she couldn’t. Not now, not before she got back.  
  
Finally catching her breath, Bulma slowly edged closer to the opposite end of the ally, peaking out from her hiding place. She casually slipped the long beget under her worn clothing and sucked in a slow, shaky breath. The coast was clear alerting her that it was time to make her move. Rushing forward, she closed her eyes if only for a second before a hand extended and yanked her back by the collar. The girl choked out, clutching the goods to her chest as her feet slid out from under her. On to her knees she fell, scuffing both. Her teeth gritted tightly together glancing down at the damage. Bright red blood began to seep from the marks on her skinny legs, causing her to quake with fear. She glanced up and over her shoulder. The massive shop owner bellowed over her, grinning menacingly through the bristles of his unkept mustache.  
  
“There ye are, ye little brat,” He breathed through his bristles, sending flecks of saliva with it.  
  
“Please, sir, I meant no harm,” She swallowed hard, placing a hand over her lurching belly.  
  
“Where ‘es me coin?” He rose a bushy brow, barring his yellowed teeth at her.  
  
Bulma shuddered, shaking her head, “I-I don’t ‘ave it, sir,” She swallowed again, licking her lips, “Ye see, my sister, she is sick… feverish. She need somethin’ ta eat, sir.” Her dirty blue strands fluttered across her face, “She may die, sir.” She tried to explain, feeling her heart burst into a million pieces.  
  
“Bah, and I need the crown of London upon my head, provide’n me all the money in the world,” He drawled in a sarcastic tone, releasing a loud chuckle and patting his large, distended belly.  
  
Bulma whimpered softly as his massive foot came down upon her shoulder, thrusting her back into a pile of wet muck.  
  
“Stupid beast,” He growled lowly, clutching his fists tightly at his side, “I should gut you like a fish, string ye up at me shop and display ye for all ta see. No one would care, for ye are just a dirty bastard orphan.”  
  
Slipping his hand below his belt line, the man withdrew a small knife. Most likely as dull as a butter knife, preparing to slit her throat, no doubt. Bulma gasped, dropping the worthless, muddy piece of bread and scrabbled away from his heavy foot fall. Hot tears began to slip down her reddened cheeks, crying for help any chance she got. He lunged forward, slicing through the air. His first jab he caught nothing but air, but his second… it sliced through the thin material of her jacket and through her soft flesh. The damn thing was sharper than she had originally thought.  
  
Bulma screamed to the sky, kicking up her leg, beating at the man.  
  
“Nay,” She cried, shaking her head once again before dragging herself to her feet and launching forward, “Leave me alone, I beg ye, sir.” Bulma cried, quivering ferociously as he caught her by the back of the neck and slammed her tiny body against the stone wall of the nearest building.  
  
“Shut up, ye little wench,” He breathed heavily through his nostrils.  
  
"Hey," Cried a strong male voice through the dimly lit cobble streets. There were only a few spectators to witness the violent actions being committed against this poor innocent child. The young man dropped his hood and glared directly at the angry shop owner.  
  
“What could this young girl possibly have done to anger you so much that you decided to draw your weapon?” His dark eyes flashed with hatred, “Young girl,” He said under his breath, “But a child.”  
  
Bulma glanced up through her thick lashes, allowing a few more tears to slip from the corners of her eyes.  
  
Savior…  
  
“This wench has stolen from me…eh… Bloody hell, who are ye anyway? Dressing fancy, speakin’ fancy… She is a dirty bastard child anyway, why would ye care? I want my money, and since she couldn’t give it ta me, I shall take something in return,” His yellow teeth gleamed in the darkness.  
  
"How much does this young girl, owe?” The man asked, pulling free a purse and jiggling the coin.  
  
The man crossed his arms over his stomach and raised his blackened eyebrow, “6 pence,” He replied, licking his dirty teeth.  
  
The man chuckled softly, “For a loaf of bread? You, sir, are full of shit.” With that, the man pulled free, three pence and tossed it to the ground, “How about three?”  
  
“Ye callin’ me a liar?” He spat.  
  
“Yes, I believe I am. Just because I have a pouch full of money doesn’t mean I will pay any amount. I am not a halfwit.” He flashed his white teeth in a smile, tucking the rest away, “Take it or leave it, you bloody fool, or I will have you thrown in the tower so you can think on your actions here today.” His black eyes narrowed, challenging the man.  
  
He belted out a laugh, patting his belly, “The tower, ye say? What are ye going to tell me next? Ye are the king of England?” The fat, dirty man chuckled once again.  
  
“Oh sir,” He chuckled, gripped the hilt of his weapon, flashing it brilliantly in the direction of his foe, “Don’t make me laugh. I am no king, but I can tell you I have the king’s ear, yes, and if you do not get on your hands and knees this very second and pick those coins off the floor with your mouth, I will have you tossed in there, no questions asked. By this time tomorrow I will be sure your head is displayed on a pike for all to see. Sort of like how you said you would display this young girl,” he chuckled softly, waving a hand through the air, stepping closer to the light.  
  
The man lost his smile and words. Instead of reacting, he glanced directly at the weapon displayed. The blade was well made and adorned on the hilt was the royal crest. Was this man apart of the king’s royal guard? No, he had to be someone of  importance, especially with this expensive silken clothing and the amount of coin he was flashing. By what was a man like him doing in a place like this?  
  
Bulma’s eyes widened as the sword was drawn without a moments notice. The sharp tip of the blade was pointed at the man. The young gentleman approached the fat bastard who had threatened her, pointing it to the tip of his nose. The man sputtered and groaned loudly, placing his palms together as if to pray for this life.  
  
“Please, sir, please I will pick it up. I will, I will,” He muttered quickly, fluttering his hands as the blade sliced the soft skin under his nose. Blood trickled down slowly, as his eyes darted to the ground, “Please, sir. I will pick the bloody things up, I swear it.”  
  
“Then do it you bloody fool, before I slice your throat!” The young man growled, pulling away the blade.  
  
Shaking all the way to the ground he got to his knees, crawling like a helpless infant toward the shimmering coins upon the dirty floor. There was no telling what was upon it. Shit, piss, vomit, alcohol… They were currently directly outside a tavern. Bulma glanced up for a second, taking notice who was watching. More people were standing in the shadows, whispering. Nothing was being done. People in this time fended for themselves, especially when commoners were concerned. No one usually stepped in. Well, that was until this night. When this stranger helped her. When he had saved her life.  
  
Her curious ice blue eyes fluttered back to the man, who was breathing in the surface of the ground. Gagging as he picked up each pence into his mouth, drifting from one to the other. Once he picked up the third, the man glance up at mystery man and whimpered.  
  
“Now leave. Don’t ever let me catch you doing harm to a young child again, or I will kill you. I shall have men keeping an eye on you, dirty fool.” He seethed.  
  
The man spit the coins into his hand. Without even a word he turned and ran as fast as his large body could take him. He disappeared into the ally in which he came, leaving them alone. Bulma winced, pushing herself up from the ground.  
  
“Where do you stay, girl?” He asked, reaching out his gloved palm to help her.  
  
“Um, I… over there some ways,” She muttered, tucking her dirty strand of hair behind her ear.  
  
“Do you have a home?” His dark eyes gleamed in the lamp light.  
  
“Not a real home, sir.” She admitted, feeling her dirtied cheeks heat up.  
  
The young man leaned in, gripping her arm tightly, “He got you good.”  
  
“Ay, sir,” She nodded, whimpering softly.  
  
“Come with me,” He demanded, releasing her for only a moment and heading in a completely different direction of where she needed to be going. Her sister was ill, alone. She couldn’t leave her to go with this mysterious man.  
  
“Nay, sir. I can’t. I must leave, thank ye.” She nodded to him, gripping her wounded arm and turning away from him.  
  
“That will get infected if you do nothing about it,” He glancing over shoulder, warning her and offering her the straightest of faces, “Have you ever had a wound cauterized?”  
  
“No, sir.” She responded almost instantly, “No disrespect ta ye, sir, but I need ta get back ta my sister,” She pursed her lips, wrapping her arms around her stomach, “She is very ill, sir.” Her blue eyes instantly filled with tears.  
  
"I see,” He nodded, “Let me get someone to tend to both you and your sister. Where can I send my men to find her?”  
  
Bulma’s eyes wandered a moment, trying to find her words.  
  
Where can I send my men…  
  
Who was this young man?  
  
“Near Whitechapel, sir. There are factories there on the east end…” He cut her off with a simple gesture.  
  
“Yes, I know where that is. Specifics, please.” He muttered, approaching her once again.  
  
“She will be in the third section, second floor… I made a small living area out of a closet. I hope you can find her…”  
  
“Do not worry. We will find her…” He promised.  
  
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Yes, indeed they did find her. By the time his men found her, it was too late. She had died. Her fever was too great. Her small body had quietly went in her sleep. Bulma told herself there was nothing she could have honestly done. Their mother had left them at tender ages. They only had each other. Bulma lived to care for her young sister. Now that she was gone, what was there to live for?  
  
Damn this life, damn her mother. Why was so so unlucky to be born in such a way? She screamed terribly, crying to God or to anyone who would listen to her pleas. Was their God listening? Did this God even care about her? Did he care for her sister? Bulma had always believed children were the innocents in this life. They should be cared for by their parents, held closely. They had had everything taken from them so early on. Was there really nothing left for her? Now she would grow up with nothing, and continue to starve, fight to survive, and do unspeakable things. Tears streamed down her face as she thought about her impending adult life. Was she to take on the streets, sell her body like the wenches on the East Side? No, she didn’t want to do that. She refused to do that!  
  
Bulma paced her hands upon her face, glancing through her slightly parted fingers to view the newly stitched wound upon her arm. A tear slipped free as she sniffled. The pain of the stitching was nothing compared to the one pain she was feeling in her heart. A soft knock could be heard upon the wooden door. Without moving even an inch or looking to see who it was, an old woman and the dark haired mystery man walked into view. The candle light outlined his handsome features, giving her a better view of what he looked like. Without being able to help it, a smile formed on her dry, cracked lips. The heaviness which had recently occupied her heart lifted slightly. He didn’t smile, yet allowed his dark gleaming eyes to bear into her soul. He held her eyes and then offered a kind grin.  
  
“You look different with out the grime covering that young face,”He spoke, taking a seat upon a wooden chair, glancing up to meet the soft gaze of the older woman who had drew her a nice warm bath. When was the last time she had a bath anyway? She couldn’t remember. Her blue eyes glazed over before snapping out of it and meeting his eyes once again.  
  
“Who are you?” Bulma whispered, completely diverting from the topic at hand.  
  
“No one important,” He responded gruffly, glancing in the direction of the plethora of candles lined up upon the frosted window sill.  
  
“Nay, I disagree, sir. You are very important. You saved my life… and attempted ta…,” She swallowed hard, swiping her wet hand across her damp eyes, “Attempted ta save my sister, sir.” She whimpered like a injured animal and wrapped her arms tighter around her small body, glancing up at him again, “I don’ no how ta thank ye,” Her lower lip quivered.  
  
“Well, if you tell me your name, young one, I shall tell you mine.” He spoke in a soft tone, crossing his arms over his broad chest.  
  
“Bulma,” She whispered, sniffling softly.  
  
“Nice to meet you, Bulma. I am Vegeta.” He grinned upon seeing her bright eyes light up.  
  
“Vegeta,” She whispered softly and then offered him a soft smile, “Thank you, Vegeta.”  
  
He nodded, “I have some other news for you,” He stood, grabbing a cloth from a table and handing it to the old woman, “I am happy to say that I have found a suitable foster home for you. They are friends to the crown, and very happy people. Good people, christian people.. They weren’t blessed with the ability to have more children than a single girl, which this child left them some years back, so Mrs. Wellington has more than agreed to take you in. You will be clothed, fed and given a proper education.”  
  
Bulma's mouth dropped open slightly, “I don’ understand, sir.” She shook her wet hair.  
  
“You don’t need to, girl. No child deserves to be out in the cold and suffering.” He explained, tightening his jaw. He nodded to the old woman caring for her and exited without another word.  
  
"What about the other children?” Bulma asked.  
  
“One step at a time,” Vegeta said sadly.  
  
“Alright ya wee thing, up you go. I need to get you dried and dressed. Wouldn’t want ya to catch a cold because ya turned into a prune.” She grinned from ear to ear, holding out a lovely towel. The softest material Bulma had ever laid hands on.  
  
Her life was about to change, that much was for certain.  
  
“Where is Vegeta going, ma’am?” Bulma inquired, blinking rapidly as she was shoved into clothing and her hair dressed.  
  
The old woman clucked her tongue, “Don’t ya go around saying his name like that unless ya are alone with him, girl. That is the Prince of Wales, next in line to the throne. Ya should be mightily grateful to be taken care of by him. It is his coin which will be giving ya the life you will be livin’ from now on.” Her brow rose.  
  
“Who are ya to him? The prince, I mean?” Bulma blushed.  
  
“I was the lads wet nurse as a babe. I may be an old lady of 47 years, but 15 years ago I was swaddling that young man while the Queen mother did her duty.”  
“Ain’t that old for having a babe?” Bulma quirked a brow, stepping from the warmth of the water. A chill instantly hit her, causing her to grab for her shoulders.  
  
“Oh, hush yer mouth, little chit,” She made an annoyed sound and shook her head, “32 years is a bit old, ay, but I had already had six children of me own, you see. My last was about 6 months before he died. I was grateful to be the young prince’s wet nurse. Gave me something to fill that empty void in my heart,” The older woman nodded, draping the towel over Bulma’s head and drying her thoroughly.  
  
“Now, we must get you dressed and into bed, little one. Tomorrow you have a big day. Let’s thank god for he is smiling down on you, child.” She smiled softly, pinching the young girl’s cheek.  
  
“Yes, Ma’am,” Bulma nodded.  
  
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9 years later…  
  
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The young orphan was quickly collected and moved to a home on the outskirts of London. There she was carefully placed in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Wellington. Both were kind people, which calmed the poor girl. She felt alone in the world. She had felt friendless, especially after the Prince had left for a time. It wasn’t long before she was fitted into better clothing, assigned a tudor and given the proper attention a child deserved. It was an interesting feeling to know one would have hot meals, a warm bed and unconditional love. Love wasn’t even the word she would describe Mrs. Wellington’s response. To Bulma’s satisfaction, the woman instantly bonded with her, holding her closer every chance she got. It was as if she had lost a child before and was afraid she might loss the one she was gifted. Yes, Mrs. Wellington insisted on spoiling the child. Vegeta didn’t approve, telling her that she would sooner turn into an ungrateful, spoiled brat.  
  
Soon, the Prince of Wales was visiting her every weekend. He took care in observing her French lessons, as well as English. Lord only knew Vegeta was rather appalled with her speech. A day didn’t go by that he didn’t correct her. It matter not to her, for she got to see him and that made me happy. There were no words to express how she felt about her current situation. Vegeta meant more to her than those taking care of her. His face, alone had the power to claim her anxieties. He knew what to say and do. It was something she wasn’t used to, being cared for. Early on Bulma took the ‘mothering’ role and had no one to worry about her. She slipped into the ‘child’ role quiet nicely, hanging  on the prince and begging for attention. Prince Vegeta didn’t mind, of course, enjoying her innocents.  
  
Years floated by and she began to blossom into a young lady. Bulma began to forget the horrors of living on the streets. She blended into the Wellington household nicely. She was at peace for the first time in her short life. By the time Bulma was 11 years she had mastered French and Spanish. To the prince’s surprise she could even speak English well, which he made sure to examine each time he visited.  
  
By the time she was 12 years, the prince’s visits were becoming sporadic. The King was ill, very ill and the royal physicians didn’t know how much time he had left. Within weeks of the king’s newest illness, he was pronounced dead and the country went into a deep mourning. The prince was soon crowned king. His visits were beginning to dwindle. Weeks slipped into months. Even though she was surrounded by her new found family and bounds of love, she couldn’t help but feel a soft twinge of loneliness. What she carved was for her savior to come back to her. Soon a year drifted by with no word.  
Soon the Wellington household got word, the succession was a complete success. England’s people approved of their new King. Another year went by, no word. There was only whispers. A new queen would soon emerge. An heir was important for the succession. Yet, they were only whispers. There were no marriage documents to speak of, and her father spoke to his men about how the King had been putting off this marriage. Even after the whispers subsided, the King still had yet to visit her properly.  
  
On her 14th birthday she received a gift. They were called the the palace for a long weekend. It was like nothing she had ever seen before. She felt like a princess in her own right. Upon arrival, she was gifted three new dresses, a string of pearls, and the best gift of all in her eyes was the presence of the newly crowned King to share her day with. She had been light on her feet all evening. He doted on her, danced with her and surprised her with choreographed dances.  
  
People began to talk, spewing their angry words upon her family. Bulma knew his snooty advisors were speaking in his ear as well, she could tell by the look on his face. He wasn’t relaxed. Soon her mother and father, who were viewed as her Grandparents, were questioned. Those close to the crown were viewed as threats. Bulma learned soon that it wasn’t all happiness to be loved by a king, but a curse. Bulma was talked down to by other ladies at court. Jealousy fueled their attacks. Mrs. Wellington guarded her daughter from the terrible things being said about her. To Mrs.Wellington, they were just rumors, but they were true… most of them. She had been abandon. The court whispered that she was the abandon daughter, taken in by her grandparents because her mother was a whore. Scared of the impending scandal, Mr. Wellington begged King Vegeta to allow them to retire into the country. The king knew was trouble would come if Bulma was discovered. She was of low birth and blood. The king wished nothing more than to reward her with a good marriage someday, and to protect her, so allowing them to go, he no longer invited them to court. He offered them a pretty pension each year to accommodate them and that was all. That was the last she had heard from the King. The terrible detail was Bulma wasn’t told the reasoning for their dismissal. Mr. and Mrs.Wellington found that bit of information to be too hard for a girl of her age to handle, and therefore kept it from her. Ignorance is bliss, her mother would say.  
  
The Damage was done. It had broken Bulma’s heart. She had tried to forget about it, keeping her memories of her savior close to her heart. That wasn’t enough. His handsome face took over her thoughts. She couldn’t sleep, she refused to do much of anything for weeks. Her anger got the better of her. He had forsaken them? How could one’s savior forsake them? The one man she cared for… her king…  
  
Her anger slowly receded, and soon she had willed him from her mind. She had hid it, and hid it well. She studied hard, worked on her womanly talents and hoped their was a spot for her in the world. Possibly there was a suitable marriage aspect in her future.  
  
A few months after her 16th birthday, nearing Christmas tide. The King sent word to the Wellington’s. A feast was to be prepared for his arrival.  
  
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“Bulma, Darling…,” Mrs. Wellington called up the stairs, “Have you not completed your attire? Guests are sooner rather than later, and I will not have you hiding in your room when they arrive. If I knew that Arabella would have taken this long on preparing you, I would have offered up my own handmaiden. The woman has lovely, tastes.” She pursed her lips, gripped her heavy shirts and stepping up the stair case to peak at the top landing.  
  
A blue haired woman gripped the wooden stair railing and trotted down the stairs, grinning at her mother. Her blue hair cascaded down the length of her back, brushing her rear as she passed her mother and offered a silly curtsy.  
  
“What do you think of this one?.” Bulma’s blue eyes flashed with happiness upon seeing her mother, “I wanted to wear my newest, but lord knows it may be a tad too flashy.” A twinkle of amusement flickered in her eye.  
  
“Oh, yes, it is lovely on you, darling. But I have to say the other one cannot possibly be too flash when his Majesty will be present.” Her mother’s soft hazel eyes drifted over her now womanly figure, smiling with joy.  
  
Mr. and Mrs. Wellington came from money, both of them. Even though they had gifted lives, they never once took advantage of it. As she had been told as a young girl, her mother had not been gifted with the ability to birth children. She had many miscarriages throughout her young life and gave up after one successful birth resulting in a daughter. They weren’t so luckily again. Their daughter grew up, running away from home, which was the reason for the whispers when they were last at court. Mr. and Mrs. Wellington passed Bulma off as their grand-daughter, gladly. Everyone knew her as such, but Bulma had always wanted to call someone, mother. That she did, and Mrs. Wellington allowed it in private whenever she wished.  
  
“Suitors will be coming this evening. Your father is rather in high spirits, for his Majesty has hinted. Our Majesty, the king, has been so kind to this family. Hopefully this evening will be a success,” Her mother nodded, taking her daughter’s hands and twirling her about so she could get a good look at the current gown. She was pleased, but not enough. She wished her to wear the newest.  
  
"His Majesty will be here?" Bulma's heart thudded in her chest, “Are you positive? I thought it was a jest.”  
  
“Yes, he has said he would make an appearance. I am just as surprised as you, dear heart, but your father insists on making everything perfect. Please don’t do anything that will upset him. Wear your other gown, if you will?.” Her mother nodded once, turning from her daughter and trailing to the sitting room, willing her to follow. Servants approached, offering drinks and setting them up comfortably.  
  
“I haven’t seen him in years it feels like. Is it wrong that I do not wish to see him?” Bulma placed a hand to her chest, taking up her tea cup and pressing the rim delicately to her lips. It had been a few years since she had seen her sovereign. The thought brought about great anxiety.  
  
“Bulma, you mustn’t think such things,” Her mother reprimanded.  
  
“Well, for someone so kind-hearted he sure forgot quickly.” Her brows knitted.  
  
“Do not speak of this to anyone. You will stop this at once, please.” Her dear mother leaned forward and narrowed her eyes, holding up her hand to emphasis, “The King will already have his fair share of gossip when he arrives. The Lords and Ladies attending will see to that. All we have to do is sit back and watch, I suppose.” Her rounded shoulders shrugged, “Plus there is more to it than that.”  
  
More to it?  
  
  
“What do you mean, more to it?” Bulma paused, rather curious, “and… what of this gossip?”  
  
“Nothing,” She pursed her rouged lips, “nothing at all.”  
  
“Nothing?” Bulma’s blue eyes widened slightly, “Surely you wouldn’t have said such a thing if it was ‘nothing’, mother.”  
  
“Well, you will not repeat this to anyone.” She shook her head, disapproving, “He is bringing a particular guest that I do not approve of. The actions he will be preforming under my roof, no doubt, is sinful and I do not agree.”  
  
"Oh, but he is King, mother. He can bring whom ever he so chooses.” Bulma said sarcastically,“You have never been this negative toward him before. What is so wrong about this ‘guest’?” the blue haired woman grinned, placing her tea cup upon the table and placing her soft hands upon her dress. To be honest, Bulma could care less what the King decided to do. If there was gossip, she would do nothing to stop it.  
  
“The female guest he is bringing is Duchess of Devonshire, Emilee. She was recently married to Rupert, Duke of Devonshire. He originally obtained the title a few years back upon his marriage to Emilee. Your father told me about it upon he returned from court just a few weeks back, which it didn’t come as a big surprise. Emilee has been apart of court life since she was a young girl, and even was a maid to the Dowager Queen. She has known the young King for many years, as have you. Though, I am afraid rumors have been circulating.. It is said…,” her mother paused, not wishing to speak of such things to even her innocent daughter.  
  
“For heaven sakes, mother, spit it out. Don’t tell me that the rumors are that the Duchess is the King’s Mistress?” Bulma chuckled softly, taking a cloth and dabbing her lips after taking a small bite from a lemon tart.  
  
Her mother’s dark eyes lifted a moment as she softly shrugged her shoulders. Bulma raised her lemon tart back to her lips, parting them to take another bite. She paused a brief moment and narrowed her eyes, offering a soft grin. Was this a jest? Finally realizing her mother was far from jesting, the young woman tilted her head to the side.  
  
“A mistress instead of a wife? What can a King possibly do with a mistress? Poor Rupert will be made a cuckold.” Bulma gasped softly, “It seems that there is no limit with him. Why must I attend? How will I be able to look him in the face and be cordial? The more I hear about him, the more I feel a fool for ever caring for him.”  
  
“Oh, Bulma, men are men. All of them have desires. The difference is he is King. Believe it or not, I am saying this, yes. Not that I agree to it,” Her mother added.  
  
“Father has never done such a thing,” Bulma shook her head, blue eyes widening out of fear that she may discover something she didn’t wish to know about her family.  
  
“Oh, your father is a good man. Loyal to me; loyal to our marriage. He is a rare sort of man. Vegeta is a King. Throughout his rule there will be many others, my dear.” Her mother said softly, “As much as it angers me that he shall be bringing this sin into my household, we must not treat his majesty any different. I am only telling you this information now so you are not surprised when hearing it from those attending this evening.” Her mother admitted, “We must remember that the crown has always been kind to us, to you.” Her mother emphasized.  
  
“Yes, mother, once it has been kind to us. I cannot forget his years of absence. He has forsaken me. I cannot forgive that,” Bulma shook her head, swallowing hard. She couldn’t shake the sour feeling churning in the pit of her belly. Vegeta had always come off level headed. A man that could do no wrong. Especially to the once young Bulma, “ I wrote to him every week. You know that perfectly well. Do you remember that one response? Just weeks after I left court?” Her mother went silent, glancing down at the hem of her skirts. There was no more to be discussed. She knew this very well. Bulma closed her eyes a moment, trying extremely hard not to project her emotions on her innocent mother. Glancing up at her blue haired daughter, she flashed her a sad smile and nodded just once.  
  
“Mother, if you will excuse me. I musts prepare myself for this evening. I still haven’t decided on my evening attire, as you well know. I am afraid I am not any closer to a decision than I was moments ago.” She forced a smile, taking one last drink of her tea and setting it down for the servants to whisk away.  
  
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Servants piled out from their hallways, already equipped with the items necessary to make this evening a success. Bulma slowly made her way down the long hallway toward the sitting room, where her father was receiving his guests. Most of the men had their tobacco out and an alcoholic beverage in their hand. Her blue eyes shimmered with interest, allowing her eyes to casually slip over each face. None of them were him.  
  
He hadn’t arrived yet, which seemed only natural. A King was to make a grand entrance, and how could one do such a thing with all the guests still arriving? Lowering her gaze for a brief moment, she cupped her trembling hands near her skirts, watching her silken material pool at her feet in a beautiful manner. The gown she was wearing was one that she had made over six months ago, but had yet to find an occasion to wear it to. It displeased her greatly to know that it was for an occasion for the King that she would be wearing a gown she had, for the first time in her life, made on her own account.  
  
"Bulma, dear," Bulma glanced up upon hearing her mother’s tender words. Clearing her mind and preparing herself for the public eye, she remembered who she was to be. A grand-daughter, yes, and then she tilted her chin high and smiled.  
  
“Yes, Grandmother?” Her mother beamed with delight. The woman hated feeling like events would somehow end in disaster. This was one check off the list, and a huge one. She had wore the gown she wished her to.  
  
“I see the dress looks lovely on you, yes,” Her mother responded, clapping in delight.  
  
“Yes, it does.” Bulma curtsied, glancing up with a devious look in her blue eyes.  
  
“Mrs. Stratford is her with her daughter, Catherine, do you remember them?” Her mother nodded, cupping her hands so she couldn’t nervously mess with her perfectly done hair.  
  
Bulma glanced around, taking note of all the lighted candles, and fancy arrangements adorned with the Christmas tide ornaments, in which were brought down from storage and dusted just for this occasion.  Wine trays and decanters were being whisked down the small flight of steps toward the small group of women chatting near the musicians.  
  
“Musicians?” Bulma’s eyes lit up, glancing toward her mother, shocked they were spending that sort of coin on the King.  
  
Her mother took in a slow deep breath and shrugged, “They weren’t hired by your Grandfather,” Her mother blinked a few times, having trouble addressing her husband already.  
  
“Don’t tell me his Majesty had them sent?” Bulma raised a brow.  
  
“Well, then I won’t,” Her mother grinned.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yes, really,” Mrs. Wellington nodded, placing a hand against her bodice, sucking in a slow breath.  
  
Bulma smiled softly, taking in her mother’s brilliant visage. Her wig was perfectly powdered, as well as her complexion. Rogue applied beautifully to her lips. Every high born person in that very room were dressed and painted to perfection. Even her own father proudly wore a wig upon his balding scalp.  
  
"Go now, mingle with the guests. Our King will be arriving momentarily.” She smiled softly, caressing her powdered cheek. Bulma slipped away, allowing herself to drift casually into her families largest entertainment room. Many people were flooding in. Introductions were being made. If you were anyone important you were there, especially since it was well known that his Majesty was the one who originally organized it. To her families delight, they were asked to host at their beautiful home in country side, near the current palace the King was occupying at this time.  
  
Upon entering the room, Catherine approached. Bulma was offered a drink, which she took gladly and began to sip. Glancing over the rim of her glass, Bulma made eye-contact with the one woman she couldn’t ever get along with, even as children. Rumors of her upbringing always put a nasty taste in Catherine’s mouth and therefore she always sought to poke fun.  
  
“Bulma, there you are darling.” She approached, smiling softly. To Bulma the smile meant nothing but disaster.  
  
“Catherine,” Bulma merely said, glancing around her. She was alone. She was not a target, for Catherine loved an audience with her. Though her guard was up, and tightly held.  
  
“This is an interesting gathering. Your home is a lot smaller than I originally thought, but still lovely.”  
  
“It is my parents family home, not my own, and we were ten, I am sure it did look pretty large.” She stiffened upon hearing her voice. As usual, she was powdered to the extreme and layered in expensive fabrics.  
  
“Of course, dear,” She laughed, placing her own drink to her painted lips, looking her over, “What did your family do to deserve such a greeting from his Majesty? It has been years since you were given favor.”  
  
Bulma’s blue eyes darkened with malice, “Our family didn’t do anything,” She snapped, taking a larger drink, “We serve the crown just the same, Catherine.” She swallowed hard and then shifted to a different topic, a touchier one, “So, any prospective marriages? I heard you had a few that fell through?” Bulma grew a big more bold, smiling brighter than ever. In Catherine’s case, she was eighteen turning nineteen within a few months and not even a single marriage. To women like Catherine, marriage was important. She came from money and she wanted to have a life with money and a good position for her future children.  
  
Sucking in a deep breath, Catherine grinned softly. It was as if the snake knew exactly what she was trying to do.  
  
“Actually, if the king allows I will possibly marrying the Duke of Sussex.” She beamed, nearly causing Bulma to roll her eyes in annoyance. She kept her cool and merely brushed her fly away curls from her shoulders, enjoying the feeling of her ribbons cascading with the locks.  
  
“His Majesty, the King,” a man’s call echoed.  
  
Everyone silenced, moving toward the entrance as the doors were opened and in came a man in the finest attire. He strut in, eyes on none other than her father. His mouth wide in a grin, flashing his perfectly straight teeth. His wig perfectly placed upon his head, making him look completely different than the young man she pictured in her mind. It had been years. He was broader, muscled and his energy was that of a confident sovereign. This pleased the crowd immensely.  
  
“Well, if you would look at that. I am shocked that his Majesty acknowledged your father at all.” Catherine snickered, gaining a few cackles from the women around her. Now she had an audience. Her fieriness had finally been ignited. Bulma glanced over her shoulder and offered a sweet grin.  
  
“It is more attention that you shall receive from his Majesty, ever.” She pointed out, slipping into the crowd and heading far from his Majesty who was obtaining all sorts of attention. She would not be seen near him, nor give him the attention he seemed to seek in front of others. If she was to speak with him, she would do so on her own terms.  
  
“Bulma, you must greet his Majesty,” Bulma’s mother snuck up behind her, gripping her arm. She jumped, glaring back at her smiling form.  
  
“I shall do no such thing,” She retorted.  
  
“But you must. He is our guest. What would his Majesty think?” Her mother grinned, noticing her father was shooting glares from across the room.  
  
“What would he think? Well, grandmother, I don’t know. Possibly that he would understand the reasoning behind my distain, especially after all these years of complete neglect. That is if his Majesty has a brain.” Just as she spoke those words, Bulma took up another glass of wine and began to sip. His Majesty glanced in her direction. Those dark eyes widened a moment as if surprised to see her. He looked her over, as a soft grin fell on his lips. A blush burned on her cheeks, and she cursed herself for the reaction. Just as he took a step forward,  his attention was captured as a small dark haired woman slipped up next to him, gripping his arm.  
  
His Mistress…  
  
Her face feel, annoyed already by it all. Bulma turned to face her mother,“She is beautiful, I’ll give him that much.” Bulma grinned, moving past her mother to the platers of food that had just been perfectly placed the moment his Majesty had been introduced.  
  
“Yes, a very beautiful woman. That is always a man’s weakness.” Her mother clicked her tongue.  
  
“Obviously,” Bulma sighed softly, blinking a few times, “That Catherine, she is a pathetic creature, if I must say. I don’t understand why you suggested I speak with that foul woman. She is absolutely vain and extremely dull.” The blue haired woman responded, placing a hand over her laced bodice for comfort.  
  
“Bulma,” Her mother scolded, “Her mother is a close friend of mine.”  
  
Bulma leaned in and whispered, “Mother, if you heard the way she was speaking to me just a moment ago, you would change you mind.”  
  
“Ladies,” A deep voice spoke from behind them.  
  
Her mother gripped her shoulder so tight, Bulma was sure she would have marks in the morning. Glancing over, her eyes widened upon seeing the handsome features of his Majesty. Bulma dipped into a curtsy, and offering an awkward grin upon greeting him. He was completely amused. Of course, Bulma wasn’t nearly as amused, especially after laying eyes on the whore at his side.  
  
“It has been a long time.” His Majesty spoke, allowing his dark gaze to travel the length of Bulma’s body, “So long that you have grown from a silly little girl into a woman.” He spoke calmly, narrowing his eye a brief moment to look her in the eyes. His hands were unsettled at his sides and without a moments noticed, the King gripped her hand and placed a kiss upon it.  
  
Her lips dropped open slightly. His lips were warm, soft. It was just a second, and a wave of heat overtook her. Bulma’s cheeks grew reddened, giving away her response. Damn her reaction, for this man didn’t deserve anything from her at the moment. Especially after tossing her to the side and forgetting about her. She would have done anything to have his favor back a few years ago, but her heart had hardened after crying many nights. Her lips pursed and without a response she glanced up toward her father who had slowly approached, worry on his face.  
  
Finally she spoke, “We are glad to have you,” She said in half truth. When her father entered into the conversation and dragged the King’s curious eyes away from her, finally, Bulma slipped away. It didn’t take long for the King to turn and cast his eyes across the hoards of people, searching for her.  
  
“I am so sorry, she has been feeling ill lately, your Majesty. She means no disrespect.” Her mother smiled, offering a soft laugh.  
  
Holding up his hand he nodded once, letting her know without speaking that everything was fine. Her small figure disappeared into the crowd. Those dark calculating eyes honed in on her as she closed in on another group and began a conversation. Those around him began to whisper, getting the better of him. He glanced in the musician’s direction and demanded they began to play. It didn’t take long for everyone to slip back into their pervious activity to keep peace, but the King knew exactly what they were speaking about.  He needed to get her alone, he had to.   
  
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The crowd was dancing, drinking and enjoying the social company of others. Her eyes scanned the crowd, allowing them to fall on the king a brief moment. She instantly analyzed the way that he and his mistress interacted with one another. She preened and grinned, constantly trying to obtain his  majesty’s attention. Vegeta didn’t seem impressed. Was he already bored of this Mistress he raised up the ladder to obtain?  His mind seemed to be to preoccupied with the business of the lords in which swarmed around him, discussing this countries needs and wants. This country never slept and the constant harping never rested. He would merely nod and then pick up another drink, trying to slip away from the business. By the look on his face, he was done with their conversation. Brushing them off, causing them to seal their lips, Vegeta pushed past the group and headed directly toward her.  
  
Bulma sat up straight and cleared her throat, trying desperately to avert her eyes. Pressing the rim of her glass to her rouged lips. Turning slightly, Bulma pretended not to see him approaching. She knew it was extremely rude not to address him properly, but he was the only person in this entire room she would rather not hold a conversation with. He brushed up close to her, leaning in toward the delectable treats displayed and snatching one up.  
  
“Good evening,” He leaned in, whispering near the back of her neck.  
  
Her hair instantly rose and she jumped, glancing over her shoulder at him. Even though she knew he was there, the slight movement shocked her completely, “Your Majesty,” She merely said, licking her lips softly and looking away.  
  
“I can’t help but notice you have been avoiding me at every chance.” He said, popping a ripe grape into his lips. Bulma glanced up at him, taking notice of the small shadow of a beard growing around his lips. He was indeed a man. Taking in a soft breath, Bulma inhaled his deep spiced aroma, which ignited her senses.  
  
“My family is pleased to have you with us once more, you majesty. The commotion is great and…,”  
  
“Everyone but you,” He interrupted.  
  
Her cheeks heated, pursing her lips in the process, “I think you know why I have a sour attitude toward you,” She said just above a whisper, shifting her blue gaze up toward his dark brown stare.  
  
“Please, my lady, inform me what is troubling you?” His dark brows knitted, and behind his dark voice it wasn’t genuine care, but annoyance.  
  
“I don’t wish to discuss something of that nature with you when we have many ears and eyes surrounding us. All eyes are on you this evening,” She whispered, turning away from him. That very moment his hand clutched her arm, yanking her back. She sucked in a deep breath, glaring over her shoulder at him.  
  
“You have always allowed your anger to get the better of you. What do you not understand? I do not wish to discuss it,” She whispered.  
  
“I understand that, but you forget your place. I am king and therefore if I ask something of you, you shall do it, yes?” He blinked a few times, offering her a kind smile, trying to mask the real reason he was pulling her away from the group. No one had a clue.  
  
They drifted toward the floor, and with a snap of his fingers the musicians began to play. It was as if they knew exactly what his Majesty was thinking. He gripped her around the waist and pulled her to him tight. Bulma’s eyes widened as heat drifted across her pale cheeks. Not only were all eyes on him, but all eyes were on her and they were intrigued. Even his jealous mistress who’s eyes were brimming with angry tears, stood staring in awe.  
  
“Now,” He took her hand and began to work his magic on the floor, pulling her body, making her dance, “You are a seasoned dancer now, I see,” He chuckled, moving faster to the pace of the song.  
  
“You would know this if you had been around,” Bulma glanced away, gasping softly at his sharp movements.  
  
“The truth comes out,” he whispered in her ear, before dipping her low, igniting whispers in the crowd. Her mother had a hand covering her lips, mortified.  
  
“If you are here to make a fool of me then please excuse me of this…” He jerked her hard, holding up their arms, and spinning away from her as they rounded one another before gripping hands once again.  
  
“What was that?” He asked, arching his brow and pretending not to hear her.  
  
“You are impossible,” She hissed through her teeth, flashing her blue eyes.  
  
“And you are letting your blood show,” He leaned in, allowing his fingers to brush across the pale skin of her upper back for a brief moment.  
  
Her eyes flashed white hot as anger boiled in her gut, “How dare you,” She whispered.  
  
“You were raised better than this,” He challenged, “You act like a spoiled child. I did everything for you.” He kept a straight face, knowing better than to act as if anything was wrong.  
  
“Excuse me, your Majesty, but if my blood was so tainted, than why did you even help me? I am obviously not good enough for the family that was kind enough to raise me into the woman I am today. If you weren’t the king I would strike you before all these people without a care in the world.”  
  
“Again, your blood is showing.” He spoke in a dangerous tone. Bulma’s eyes filled with tears.  
  
“You hurt me know, and you hurt me when you left me… alone.” She whispered, feeling her lower lip quiver. A look of surprise flashed across his features. Then he knew that he had went too far.  
  
This woman wasn’t trying to spite him, but was hurt and held that for many years. Vegeta had always been a stubborn man; the same when he was a child as well. If he couldn’t get what he wanted he would do even the extreme to make that person feel low in order to obtain it. As the Prince of Wales, he was groomed to be the next King and given anything he ever wanted. A very small sliver of his deceased mother shined through, and that was the part of him that saved that poor innocent child all those years ago, the one who grew to be a stunning young woman, yet the one who had her heart ripped apart time and time again by him.  
  
“You don’t understand,” He yanked her away from the crowd. Tears were spilling down her cheeks and hiccups irrupted from her throat, “Bulma, stop your tears, at once.” He whispered harshly.  
  
burying her face in her hands, Bulma sobbed shaking her head, “You don’t understand,” She finally snapped at him, looking up and pointing a shaky finger at his face, “You make a fool of me. I don’t care if I never see you again.”  
  
“I will say this once more,” He whispered, taking her by her shoulders only to have her fight back slightly.  
  
“No,” She shouted, “No more lies.”  
  
“I couldn’t be around,” he began, even over her sniffling, “I was protecting you. The moment you stepped into my life questions began to fill the halls of my father’s court. You were young, you are beautiful. They questioned who you were. I did this to protect you.” He pursed her lips, gripping her chin and lifting her eyes to meet his hard stare. Her eyes glistened with fresh tears, “I was protecting you from those who would stop at nothing to figure out your past. If they figured anything out about you, you would be ruined, your mother and father would have nothing. I couldn’t stand the thought. As the years passed, I couldn’t bare the thought of never seeing you, or your family again. I am now king, an established king, I can protect you from anything where as my father wouldn’t have given it a second thought.” He whispered, stroking away her glittering tears, “I didn’t mean to harm you, woman.”  
  
Bulma shuttered, reaching up and placing her hand upon his own, which was place delicately upon her shoulder, “Why couldn’t you have told me? Instead my heart has been broken.”  
  
“I needed you to forget me for a time. Do your remember the hoards of letters you wrote me as a girl?” He whispered softly, cupping her cheeks. Bulma chuckled softly, “They were ridiculously annoying, yet I knew that if they continued those who honed on you would read my letters. The court is a savage place at times, Bulma.” He kissed her forehead softly, pursing his lips and moving away from her, feeling silly for displaying so much affection for this particular woman, let alone anyone besides his own mother. They were truly genuine.  
  
"Dry your tears,” He said harshly, looking down at her now reddened cheeks. She was still beautiful even though she had been crying.  
  
“I’m sorry for my behavior, I didn’t realize.” Bulma whispered, “I thank you for protecting me, but you still could have discussed it with me. I would have understood. You know this.”  
  
“You were young, I didn’t want to take any chances.”  
  
“Did my parents know?” She asked, glancing up at him.  
  
“Yes, they did. Bulma, I have come because I want to bring you back to court.” He said softly, running hand over his hair.  
  
“I…” She began, but he held up a hand to silence her.  
  
“Let me finish,” He said softly, “I know this is unconventional. I would speak to you father, but I find it is only fair to your feels. Now that I know them, but I shall be marrying at the end of this year. I would be pleased if you accepted a place in her household, attending to the future queen on her arrival. I could then find you a suitable match, marrying you to a rich man with status. You deserve it.”  
  
“I don’t know what to say,” Bulma whispered, glancing up at him. His eyes ignited with desire. Those eyes in which were watching her all evening, dipped lower and watched the swells of her breasts as they rose and fell with each breath.  
  
He whispered huskily, “Don’t say anything, except that you will do me this honor? Say yes,” He gripped her chin.  
  
Bulma hesitantly nodded, and watched him with curiosity.  
  
He opened his well-formed lips and leaned in, “And one other thing,” He said.  
  
“What could you possibly want of me?” Her head tilted into his hand.  
  
“Only that you will allow me to come to you this evening. I have missed you, missed you more than you will ever know. Coming from a man like me, that means something.” Bulma couldn’t believe her ears. After all these years, and no word he speaks to her in such a way. This man she had once looked up to was now doting on her like a prized whore, requesting she allow him into her bed chamber. She didn’t know how to react. Should she reprimand him?  
  
The words were caught on her lips, “I…” She shook her head and that was when he dipped lower, capturing her soft rose petal lips between his in a searing kiss. It caught her off guard. She was lost in the passion of it all. She had never been touched this way, nor kissed. His hot tongue dipped between her lips, pulling her in closer.  
  
“Your Majesty,” She pulled away, gasping for breath, “I will not have my innocence tarnished. You are like family, it wouldn’t be right. How could you suggest such a thing. After all these years. No word, and this is what you request?” She spoke with much emotion, secretly wishing for another one of his sweet kisses. Her heavily lidded eyes, averted from his.  
  
  
“Please,” He pressed, “You are not a child anymore, Bulma. That much is clear. Your king wants you, more than you could ever know.” Without another word, Bulma yanked a hand away from him and dashed from the dark corner he had backed her into. Cursing softly under his breath, the king finally returned after calming himself.  
  
  
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Everyone had retired for the evening. Everyone except the most prized guests that were allowed to stay in the guest rooms of her parents house. The house was silent, not even a creek could be heard. The ladies that attended her in the evening that already retired after getting her prepped for bed. She slipped under her sheets and pulled them up to her chin, rolling to her side and closing her eyes. Her mind was filled with the image of him. His dark eyes following her every move. Had her parents known of his intensions? That evening her mother had been tense, barley saying two words to her.  
  
Gripping her pillow, she tried to slip into a deep sleep, but was kept from it when a soft knock sounded upon her door. Her heart thudded in her chest. She kept herself from taking a breath, hoping that whoever  it was would just leave.  
  
Her blue eyes widened as she searched the room, biting her lower lip and hiking up the sheets higher so they were covering her fan of blue hair. Then she heard it. The click of the door. Her ladies were not far, just a ring away. The string dangled near her bed side, and for a moment she was tempted to pull it, which would sound for her ladies to rush to her room and tend to her any whim.  
  
“Bulma,” His deep voice called from the darkness.  
  
Her eyes clenched tightly shut. What did he not understand? She had declined. She did not wish to bed him. He had already tarnished her view of him, especially the kiss he had given her, which had ignited something deep within her. Something she, herself, had been pushing from her own heart for years. That handsome young man who had saved her now a grown man, now a king had slipped into her sleeping chambers and was now seated at the edge of her bed. The dip in her mattress told her all.  
  
His hand slipped up again the sheets, gripping her small foot. Bulma yanked it back, gasping softly and forcing herself erect. Her eyes blazed with anger, yet there was that sliver of confusion.  
  
“What are you doing?” She hissed, snatching up her sheets to cover herself as she allowed those crystal blue eyes to scan his form. He himself was in just breeches and a undershirt, flimsy and slit down the center to offer her a glance of his well-formed chest.  
  
“I had to see you,” he gruff voice cut through the silence.  
  
“I told you ‘no’. What don’t you understand? Do you not understand that you being here could ruin me?” Bulma asked, placing a hand to her breasts.  
  
“I remember when I first saw you.” He said, glancing up at her. His eyes were glossy and extremely blood shot. Without a moment to waste, he slipped up upon the bed and moved closer.  
  
Bulma’s breath hitched in her throat, pulling her legs up slowly to meet her chest as she listened to him. His hand slowly moved back to his knee, but he wasn’t far from her beneath her canopied bed.  
  
“There was something I saw in you. It was a feeling I couldn’t, myself, understand. I still don’t understand it. I knew I had to have you. I had to do something for you. Now that you have grown, my feelings have only intensified. I cannot help myself…” He said softly, tightening his jaw and cursing under his breath as he shook his head and looked into the darkness of her room.  
  
“Your Majesty-“  
  
“Vegeta,” He muttered.  
  
“V-Vegeta, please, they will talk,” She said softly, “You are in a ladies room in the middle of the night.” Bulma insisted.  
  
He moved to the top of her bed, seated directly beside her. He reached out, stroking a tendril of blue hair, moving down to the soft skin of her neck. She brushed him off, feeling a wave of heat slide across her small form. Shuttering softly, she placed a hand over her shoulder, cupping it.  
  
“Do you not remember?” He asked.  
  
“I remember everything,” Bulma almost instantly replied, glancing over her shoulder and offered him  a soft grin.  
  
“I was there everyday, nearly, to watch over your education. Your english was god awful. Something out of a horror story.” He chuckled, moving his large hand over the bristles of his beard.  
  
“I suppose now it is suitable for my false station.” Sadness crept into her eyes, “With my breeding and all, as you reminded me this night.”  
  
“I-I didn’t mean it like that,” He pursed his lips and shook his head, having a hard time finding his words, “I mean, I shouldn’t have said that. I am… I am terrible at small talk, woman. I find that I say what comes to mind, especially when I am angered. I was angry. Angry that you were paying me no mind, which I know now that it was my fault.” He admitted, which was a step for him because he had never been good at admitting when he was wrong.  
  
“I cannot believe my ears, your Majesty,” Bulma smiled softly, almost laughing upon seeing him try with all his might to keep in a laugh.  
  
“Come here,” He said softly, with heavily lidded eyes.  
  
Bulma hesitantly moved closer, allowing him to collect her in his arms. She laid her head upon his shoulder, taking in his scent, “You know, I used to think you were the most stunning man I have ever laid eyes on. Well, as a girl,” She added.  
  
Vegeta stiffened and glanced down at her soft features, “And that has changed? You wound me. Pray tell, who has captured your attention?”  
  
Bulma blushed, “No one in particular. You just have been gone a long while, your Majesty. I would have to say now that you have slipped back in you, again, have stunned me.” The words were hard for her to say, especially with him seated before her.  
  
His hand brushed over her shoulder blade, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “I saw you last summer, as well as a few months ago…”  
  
Bulma’s ears perked up, “You…”  
  
“Since our move in Palaces it put me closer. I was tempted, so I had to collect my horse and ride to your family home to see if I could catch a glimpse of you. I did, and I was pleased. So pleased, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” He admitted, allowing his lips to brush the sensitive skin behind her ear.  
  
Her eyes shut, and her mind began to run wild. Her head was telling her all things wrong with her current situation, but her body and heart had a completely different idea.  
  
“Your Mistress, she would surely be jealous if she knew your whereabouts this evening.”  
  
“You are and always will be more important to me.” He said against her neck, “Allow me to show you how I feel.”  
  
“I will not give you my maidenhead.” Her hand clutched the flimsy material of his undershirt.  
  
“I shall not. Instead, allow me to feel you. Allow me to let you feel,” He insisted, trying desperately to dip his head between them to taste her lips once again. His knuckles slid up, brushing over the soft tip of her breast, stimulating it to harden.  
  
Bulma shrugged away from him, feeling like a sinful person. She had always has a secret adoration for the then Prince of Wales. Before her now was a full grown man, not just a man, but a King. The power he wielded was more so than any person she would ever come in contact with in her life. It scared her.  
  
“Please,” She begged him, lifting a hand to cover her breast, only to have him slowly pulling it away. He cupped the warm breast in his hand, giving more attention to it. His breathing grew heavier as he buried his face in her neck, inhaling her soft floral scent.  
  
“I can make you feel good,” He breathed, placing a soft kiss upon her neck.  
  
“Does it not bother you at all that I was once that innocent girl you saved? How can you honestly do this? How can I?” She whispered the last part feeling heat caress the length of her body and slip down between her legs. It spread, especially with each movement of his thumb.  
  
“You aren’t that young girl anymore. You have blossomed into a woman. I cannot help but look. I cannot help but want.” He said with a desire filled tone.  
  
The bright moon shined in between her silken curtains, caressing a path toward her bed. It was so silent she could hear her heart beat thud in her ears. So silent she could hear the rhythm of his own heart along with his shallow breaths.  
  
“Do you not want me?” He asked, glancing up to meet her intense stare.  
  
“It has happened all too fast,” She breathed, feeling his mouth capture her own in a searing kiss, moving her back against the pillows. To her surprise his heavy hand slid down the length of her flat stomach and over the planes of her well-shaped thighs.  
  
His toned body slipped up the length of hers, settling between her thighs, forcing them apart. Bulma’s breath burst from her lips as she carefully, yet shyly gripped his hips as he ground a thick length to her core.  
Bulma’s head tilted back and rolled to the side as his nimble fingertips found their way under her night garments and covered her womanhood, grinding the heel of his palm against her virgin opening.  
  
Sliding away for a brief moment, the King slipped his palm up, cupping her thigh and pushing it aside, giving him better access to her center. Bulma glanced down the length of her body, now enjoying the feel of his long form upon her.  
  
“I need to repent,” She whimpered as his hand was now upon her again, fingers probing, “God, why must I feel this way for you? Why must my heart yearn. I know this is wrong.”  
  
“It isn’t wrong. We are only human.”  His lips found her nipple, gliding the warm length across the tight flesh.  
  
“Lies,” Bulma snapped, gripping his shoulders as another wave of pleasure overtook her, “I am not your wife, nor are you my husband.”  
  
“I shall have the church pray for us. We can be forgiven.” He insisted, moving lower upon her. His face was parallel with her womanhood, “Let me taste your cunny,” He whispered against the flesh of her thigh.  
  
“My King,” She whispered, crying out as his mouth sucked her clit between his lips. Her hands were deep within his black locks of hair. Her lips dropped open as he brought pleasure to her like nothing she had ever felt before. This was nothing compared to the pleasure she had felt in the warm sun, nor a delicious dish. Not even a suitable bath came close. So many women downed on the coupling between a man and woman. To most it became tedious. The point, from what she gathered, was to produce offspring. Never did she realize the feelings it could produce. It was always said that men were the only ones who felt the pleasure, “This feeling,” She said softly into the air.  
  
“It is passion you feel,” He spoke against her inner thigh, using his fingers along with this lips against her.  
  
It wasn’t long before her body was tumbling head first into spending. His fingers were wet with her essence, along with his glistening lips. Licking them clean, he glanced up at her. Crawling over her small form, he placed a tender kiss upon her lips, urging her to kiss him back with the same amount of passion. Bulma’s lidded eyes slipped away from his, placing a hand over her forehead as she closed them momentarily and allowed her breathing to become more controlled.  
  
“Do not be ashamed of yourself. Your innocence is still intact. I respect you too much to go back on my word.” He spoke to her as gentle as if to a child.  
  
“Can I ease you?” She asked shyly.  
  
An amused grin drifted across his features. Then, his dark gaze shifted to the front of his breeches, which appeared to be containing something large. He winced as he moved to the edge of the bed. Reaching behind him, he gripped her well made calf and yanked her closer. Sliding her hand across his back, she watched as he slipped his hand down the front of his breeches, unlacing them to release what was straining. His cock bobbed free, but quickly he took hold of it. Glanced up at her with a desire filled look he nodded for her to drift toward the floor. She slipped from the bed and stood before him, cupping her hands against her abdomen. Her core was still ablaze and more so now that she got a glimpse of his manhood. He was stroking it slowly, hissing with pleasure. The reddened tip glistened as his hand came up upon it again.  
  
“Kneel between my legs.” He nodded.  
  
Bulma slowly lowered herself to the ground, “What do…you require?”  
  
“Take ahold of my cock.” He demanded.  
  
Bulma blushed, slowly taking him in her shaky hand. The moment their skin made contact it was a heat wave that traveled between them. Vegeta let out a slow breath, urging her to stroke the length of him. He used his hand to guide her movements.  
  
The length of him was hot, hard and strained with each slow movement of her hand. He was, indeed, hard but he was also soft to the touch. She pulled the skin back from his cock with each thrust of his hips. Gradually, his own movements grew with his passion. A thin, clear liquid seeped from the tip, coating her fingers. He grunted in pleasure, causing her to gasp as he glanced down at her slightly exposed breasts, yanking her close to offer a sweet kiss. 

Bulma groaned against his lips. Dipping his tongue between her lips, he took in a soft breath.  
  
“Let me try something.” He offered, releasing her hand. Bulma pulled away, watching his staff with amazement.  
  
Reaching around her, with ease, he gripped her rump and pulled her upon his lap so she straddled his hips.  
  
“Your Majesty, please, I cannot…” He place a finger to her lips, hiking her nightdress up and over her hips, exposing her nether region to his lidded gaze.  
  
“I will not fuck you good and proper. Even though there is nothing I would rather do than to feel you around me.” He breathed against her lips, tilting her head back to ravage her neck.  
  
Bulma ground against his cock, whimpering in the process, “That is is, my girl.” He encouraged, gripping her hips and sliding her wet core against his cock, allowing her to dry hump him. The only thing his cock as missing was the feeling of her wet cunt clenching him, milking him to completion.  
  
“Faster,” He grunted, forcing her up and down.  
  
Bulma moaned, feeling her sensitive clit swell with each hard thrust of his hips. He was going to make her come again. She shifted and pulled at him. Before long they were heavily breathing and near their end. Bulma shuttered as another intense wave washed over her. Her breathing nearly halted within her throat. Vegeta grunted loudly, grabbing her mid-section as he slowed his rhythm. Hot splashes gushed against her wetness. Her eyes grew wide, looking between them with curiosity.  
  
“What..” Bulma whispered, gripping her night dress and lifting it up above her belly button.  
  
“Spending for a man can become a bit messy. Some women too,” He explained, cupping her swollen cunt and then bringing those wet fingers to his lips, inhaling her scent and taking her into his mouth, “As promised, your maidenhead is still intact.” He spoke, leaning in to capture another kiss.  
  
Bulma looked down, feeling a wave of insecurity wash over her. Was she tarnish now? What of a good marriage? There was no way this man before her would make an honest woman out of her.  
  
“What now?” Bulma asked, “You shall be done with me?”  
  
“I could never be done with you,” He admitted, cupping her cheek and stroking it.  
  
“I am ruined,” She admitted.  
  
“No you are not. You shall not speak of this to anyone. You shall marry well, I promise you that.” He took in a sharp breath, stroking his whiskers.  
  
“I am truly ruined, your Majesty.” Bulma said again.  
  
“Stop saying that,” He said, looking deep into her blue eyes.  
  
“Now that I have had you, I don’t know what I will do with myself. I know you will leave again, and I will have to start from the beginning. I know I can never fully have you. I as much as I am trying to tell myself it is ok, I cannot rid of this heavy feeling in my gut.” She slipped from his lap, glancing down at his half massed erection.  
  
“You will not be without me,” He said, shifting his gaze to his naked feet.  
  
“I will not become your mistress,” She shook her head, “This will not happen again,” Bulma said sternly.  
  
He was quiet for longer than she would have liked, but finally after a moment more of silence, he glanced in her direction and let out a slow breath, “Come to court. I shall speak with you father in the morning.”  
  
“To become a lady in waiting to your future queen?” Bulma asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.  
  
“Yes, to my future wife. That way I can have you close. You will make a name for your family. I shall grant your father titles. I will give you a yearly salary. You won’t have to worry. I will take care of you, woman.” He promised, gripping her chin hard and smothering her lips with another hot kiss.  
  
Bulma moaned, and grunted softly as he pulled away and stood abruptly, tucking his limp cock into his breeches. Situating himself and smoothing his hair, Vegeta stood tall. Bulma say upon the edge of her bed, just watching him as if the whole experience had been a wild dream. Had she just had her first experience, sexually with a man? Not just any man, but the one man she had always looked up to. The one man who had her heart from the moment she set eyes on him, her king.  
  
“Sleep well, Bulma. I shall see you at breakfast in the morning. Do sleep,” He spoke in a soft tone, softer than she was used to with his usual hard exterior.  
  
“Yes, your Majesty,” She nodded, running her hand through her mass of hair.  
  
“Vegeta,” He corrected, slipping from the room, leaving her to pray for forgiveness in her own silence.  
  
  
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The next morning, with very little sleep, Bulma rose. A fresh basin of water had been brought to her. It had been sitting for quite sometime because the moment she dipped her cloth into the clear liquid, it sent a chill straight through her. Trying her best to hide herself from the door way, Bulma slipped close to the curtains of her canopied bed and began to move the close between her thighs to wash away the dried essence which coated her thighs. The night before, she couldn’t find the strength to get up. Instead she slept and woke over and over again.  
  
After cleaning up and ripping the sheets from her bed, Bulma say comfortably upon the cushions bench stacked with fine pillows near her bed. The window had been slightly cracked to allow a soft breeze to flow in. It was a tad humid in her sleeping chambers, due to the fact that they were located so close to the ocean.  
  
Leaning up against the wooden window frame, Bulma glanced up nearing a soft knock upon the door. In slipped her handmaiden and her mother. Slowly moving toward the window, Bulma say up trying to read her face. Hopefully no one had spotted the King slipping into her room late last evening.  
  
“Are you feeling alright, dear?” Her mother asked, cupping her hands near her breasts.  
  
“I feel fine, thanks,” Bulma let out a sigh of relief and brushed her long locks away from her face, offering up a kind smile in return.  
  
“I am shocked you haven’t called for anyone to ready you for the day. My dear, it is nearly noon. You have missed breakfast, and you are bound to miss the second meal of the day if you continue to sit in here. You cannot hide from his Majesty forever. There is always a reason for everything, my dear.” She tried to explain, moving close to her daughter’s side.  
  
“I know, mother, he has told me everything.” Bulma admitted.  
  
A look of surprise floated across her features, “Oh, did he?” A soft smile then etched across her lips.  
  
“Yes, I understand that he was only protecting me.”  
  
“Well, this will make things easier on your father then. The poor man was afraid to summons you this morning,” Her mother admitted, “But we need to get you dressed. His Majesty as well as your father expect to see you soon. We have some extremely good news.” She smiled, glancing toward her bed, which were completely stripped of her sheets. Her mother opened her mouth to speak, but closed them deciding not to ask. Instead she kissed her cheek and expressed her excitement to see her dress and down stairs within the hour.  
  
Bulma smiled softly, nodding and agreeing that it was time she got up.  
   
It took nearly an hour and a half to get the poor girl up and ready, but the time she was down the main staircase, everyone was seated around the table, drumming their fingers. Her father stood abruptly upon seeing her approach.  
  
“Bulma, my dear,” He smiled, waving her close. Her heels clicked against the wooden floor as she slowly made her way to her own seat, having it pulled for her.  
  
They were served, and then entire time she kept her eyes away from his Majesty, who hadn’t looked at her once.  
  
"Bulma," The King finally said, finished chewing, “I was speaking to your father. You are now the perfect age to come to court. All these years you have spent deep in your studies, learning different languages, which you seemed to excel at all. I expressed my desire to have you at court. I shall be marrying soon and there is no one I would feel more capable than you to have you at my future wife’s side.  
  
Bulma placing a ripe grape between her lips, glancing up to finally meet his dark gaze. There was a soft glint of wonder, “I would be happy to tend to her, when she comes, your Majesty.” She replied in the more courteous of tones.  
  
“Well done,” He nodded, glancing toward her father, “I expect a marriage document to be signed and the Dutch Princess on her way to this country within the year. It has been a tiring subject, let me tell you, but it must be done for me and my people. They will expect it sooner rather than later.”  
  
“Yes, of course. There will always be that question of an heir.” Her father grinned, taking up a piece from his plate and placing it between his grinning lips.  
  
“Yes, that, unfortunately must happen,” He chuckled, which Bulma instantly sensed a bit of nervousness and unease.  
  
Lifting her chin, she watched him as he sat in silence for a few moments, deep in thought, “Well, I for one, am thrilled that I will finally be able to attend those extravagant balls. Maybe even a husband in my future?” Bulma asked, offering a smile. It was, indeed, genuine. There was nothing she wanted more than to experience court, even if before this day she would have had to look upon his Majesty. Now that her hurt had subsided since the night before, it would make it that much more enjoyable.  
  
“In time,” The king snapped, “I don’t wish you to fill your head with thoughts of men, when you can be doing your duty to the crown.” Instantly he knew he had spoken harshly, especially after he had seen the look upon her face, “I will find you, in time, the husband you so seek.”  
  
“Thank you, your Majesty,” Bulma whispered, knitting her brows.  
  
“There is one thing I am curious about, your Majesty,” Her father piped in, “What of the pervious scare, when Bulma was but a girl?”  
  
“I am King, and anyone that disrespects those I hold dear, will deal with me instead.” His eyes darkened, yet his face was calm and clear. There was a darker side to this King. Bulma knew that for sure. He was battling not only his advisors, but his inner feelings as well.  
  
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Fin...  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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